


A Last Farewell

by Nelja-in-English (Nelja)



Category: The Bone Key - Sarah Monette
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Ending, Betrayal, Bloodplay, Burnplay, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Rimming, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English
Summary: Booth yields to temptation one last time.
Relationships: Kyle Murchison Booth/Ivo Balthasar
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	A Last Farewell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winternacht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/gifts).



"You aren't here," Booth said. He had denied Ivo for days, and he thought he was gone - but the sentence wasn't enough. He had to mean it. And maybe, on this Friday evening, knowing he wouldn't have the oblivion of work, he was feeling vulnerable. He was lonely, longing.

"You aren't here," he said again, stronger, anger in his squeaky voice.

"I love you, Kyle." Ivo's voice was muffled, but beautiful, his eyes full of tears. Booth had to remind himself that he had nothing in him to love, that Ivo had only loved him for his family curse, for supernatural reasons, just as Booth had fallen in love with some magic, not with his kindness and beauty.

_I don't_ , he was tempted to say, but he wasn't sure he would be able to do this without crying. He wasn't even sure he was able to think about it without tears forming in his eyes, not yet spilling over.

"You want me," Ivo said. The light hurt him, but he continued advancing towards Booth, out of the shadows. Booth saw him flinch and for an instant he couldn't look away. Maybe it was a seed of evil in him, enjoying Ivo’s pain, taking comfort that Booth wasn’t the only one who hurt. Ivo was quick to take advantage and started to remove his clothes, while giving a quick, needy, forced smile through tears.

His body always made Booth cry, as beautiful as carved marble, but giving and warm and shivering under his touch. It was half-transparent now, making even more tempting the length of the slender fingers, the flat stomach, the pink tint of a nipple. 

Booth knew what he should have said, but his voice was taken away. Slowly, Ivo caressed himself as he finished removing his shirt and then opened his pants. His beautiful cock was half-hard in its nest of soft, blond curls. It was a wonder to watch. Booth, with his experience of his own body, would never have called such a thing beautiful before. But nights spent with Ivo, nights full of pleasure and love devoid of shame, had taught him otherwise.

"And I want you," Ivo said, open in his longing. "I need you. No one else. I want your heart and I want your body and right now I want more than anything your lips against mine, my love. But if all I can have is your eyes on me, I'll take this, too. I'll take any crumbs you throw at me."

Ivo started to stroke his cock, and Booth realized he had let this go too far. In addition to Ivo's perfume of viburnum, he detected the distinct smell of human arousal, and it was - it was clearly not Ivo. Booth closed his eyes and turned around.

"You aren't here," he said firmly.

"No, because I'm behind you," Ivo answered, a tender smile in his voice. "Oh, my love. Why do you want so much to hurt us both?"

Booth should have faced him, told him again that Ivo was nothing to him. He couldn't. He let Ivo embrace him from behind, Ivo’s hands running under his shirt, Ivo’s teeth teasing his neck with the softest bite.

"Look at me," Ivo said very softly.

Booth would have loved to pretend that it was magic, that he was under the incubus's spell again. But he had a choice and he chose to look at Ivo. He knew what Ivo was and how it would end—and he still looked at him, at his eager eyes and his imploring face.

He kissed him. He pressed their bodies together, desperate for more touch, for the tenderness and the eagerness, for being loved. He didn't forget that their relationship was steered towards death, a parody of real love, if such a thing existed; but he almost stopped minding.

"Anything you want," Ivo said again. And Booth felt like Ivo wanted to be punished for what he was, wanted to be hurt. Booth understood this feeling too well, but he would never have thought Ivo, perfect Ivo, would feel that way, in his perfection. He wouldn't talk about anything other than his love, he was nothing else. But guilt had made a home in him, and though Booth understood, he wanted to kiss him better.

Instead, he took Ivo by the hand and led him to the kitchen, where he picked up a sharp cooking knife.

"Do you want me to hurt you, my love?"

"Yes!" Ivo answered, his voice shaking. It was lust, not fear—Booth was almost sure of this. He remembered how Ivo had scratched his back in the throes of ecstasy, how being struck had made Booth feel raw and overwhelmed with emotions, how he had begged for pain as much as pleasure. Booth knew that the desire for pain could be sincere, but he had never felt the need to return this specific gift before - before learning that Ivo's love was killing him.

Booth didn't remove his clothes. He wanted it, but he kept it as a gift for himself, later. He asked Ivo to lie down on the bed and crawled over to straddle him. His shadow fell across Ivo’s beautiful shape, unable to darken the wild blue fire in Ivo's eyes. 

"Thank you. Thank you, Kyle," Ivo said when the knife opened a long gash on his torso. 

It didn't smell like blood, only a stronger, more sugary scent of viburnum. Booth lowered his head and carefully, almost deferentially, licked it. It was heady, like a perfume that you could drink, like a strong wine.

Booth only stopped lapping when the wound was fully closed, the skin as perfectly smooth as it always was.

"More?" he asked, and Ivo nodded.

Booth knew that every wound Ivo healed was more life energy taken from him. He kept going, though, going wild in his destruction, crying at Ivo's abandon and his misplaced trust. He only stopped when Ivo shook his way through an orgasm, his throat half-open.

Only when his vocal cords healed could he talk again. "I love you. I want to do something nice for you now."

Booth dropped to the bed and rolled over, and let Ivo hold him, still pleasantly aroused by the blood. He let Ivo remove his blood-soaked clothes at long last. he let him stroke and squeeze his cock slowly. And, like a secret, he whispered in his ear: "I wish we could have died together."

Demonology books had clearly laid out the fates available to them. If Booth kept denying Ivo his love, Ivo would die, and Booth would forget him. If Booth let himself be loved, Ivo would kill him, and then forget him when he would find himself desperately in love with his new prey. Booth had almost convinced himself that if there was no possible happy ending, he should save himself, rather than a demon who would take new prey, but the truth was that he was jealous. He didn't want to imagine Ivo ever loving someone else.

He didn't want to imagine forgetting him. Even keeping this memory forever like an open wound would be better than that. Why couldn't they just die now with alive love in their hearts?

"I wish someone would find our bodies and know we loved each other," he said dreamily as pleasure built up in his whole skin. It was a terrible, impossible fantasy. A wave of guilt rose up in his throat, because it was his daydream. Ivo didn't want this. Even as he dropped small kisses on Booth's throat while teasing him, Ivo only accepted it because he answered Booth's desire, a sexual fantasy, not the truth.

Just as the guilt was becoming too much, Ivo stopped stroking his cock and put both hands on Booth’s arms. He looked at Booth’s, eyes drilling deep into Booth's heart.

"I'm gonna make love to you, Kyle," he said and kissed Booth's sobs away, then began to prepare him with skill and patience. Booth used to be so confused by the pleasure it gave him when he felt like by common standards they hadn't really started. This was one of the many things Ivo had taught him. 

"Do you remember the day you burned me?" Booth asked.

Ivo stopped licking his entrance, stopped scratching his thighs. "I'm sorry, my love."

"No, I wanted to ask," Booth started to say, before losing his voice under Ivo's ministrations. He moaned, then started again. "What was it like for you?"

"A reminder, I suppose. Of how fragile you are and how cautious I should be."

"It's just…" Words fought in Booth's mouth, hard to get out. "If it makes you feel free, feel yourself, then you can burn me."

He wanted to say more. Burn me to my bones, burn your name in my skin, please. He couldn't.

Ivo didn't react, neither to protest nor to nod; he just kissed Booth harder and soon he was entering him, focused on him in a way only Ivo was able of, loving Booth with his hands, his cock, his sharp teeth, his whole being. 

“Please hurt me,” Booth begged, lost in sensation. “Please! I need it!”

And then the hand on Booth's arm started to burn red. It was devastating, though the scratches or the bites had been pure pleasure. But so much had happened before the first burn, and Booth was able to confirm it still hurt less than a wound to the heart. For a brief moment, between pain and pleasure, he forgot what kind of person he was and what he wanted to do. He came hard, crying; Ivo very shortly after.

"I hurt you," Ivo said.

"That's alright," Booth said, still half-dazed with orgasm and pain. "I asked you to."

"And I thank you for this," Ivo said, kissing his neck. "You still need medical attention."

Booth nodded, even if he wanted more to take Ivo into his arms and maybe sleep. But it had to be done. He knew it was the only way.

When Ivo came back from the bathroom with cold water, bandages and salve, Booth looked at him, into his beautiful, soulful eyes, and said once more, "You aren't here."

Ivo's feeling of betrayal was maybe worse than the first time. It had to be. Booth deserved it, just like he deserved the pain in his arm that he didn't want to treat. But he said it—again and again and again, until he could barely see Ivo.

He didn't call a doctor. He just lay there and endured the pain and tried to appreciate it. He was feeling very weak. Maybe they could die together after all.


End file.
